


Countdown

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Series: Survival [14]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: Brock is not counting. But apparently, somebody else is.





	1. Three

**Three.**

 

Bucky spending hours in the range with Barton wasn’t anything new. If anything, it was a common enough occurrence that Brock always confirmed with Jarvis if that’s where his lover was whenever he started searching for him for whatever reason. He’d once briefly wondered how many shooting challenges and competitions those two could devise to entertain themselves and try to finally prove who the better shot was, and then he’d quickly made himself stop thinking about it. He didn’t need more fuel for his nightmares.

What definitely wasn’t common was for Bucky to get Jarvis to call him up to the range.

Something in him tensed when he saw that Stark was also there. There was technically no animosity left between them, but the fact that the engineer was their host and also had the ability to somehow get under Brock’s skin in a way not even the most annoying bastards back in Hydra had managed to made for a set of circumstances that he didn’t quite know how to deal with. Bucky had told him to relax about it, but he couldn’t help getting a bit defensive whenever the guy was around.

“And the formerly-evil tough guy finally deigns to show up,” said Stark with a grand gesture of his arms as he stepped into the range. Brock thought it was perfectly illustrative of their awkward relationship.

“Hey,” he greeted everyone with a nod, because it was a greeting and didn’t commit him to anything. He gravitated towards Bucky, who gave him a smile and didn’t say why he’d called him up.

“Tony has something he wants you to test,” Clint said, with the same laid back attitude Brock remembered from back when they’d both been working for SHIELD.

“As long as it’s not another subcutaneous explosive, I’m game,” he said with a lopsided smile that hopefully didn’t come off too tight. He wasn’t above reminding everyone of what Stark had done to him if the bastard wouldn’t cut it off with the Hydra comments. He was pretty sure that having a prototype explosive tracker injected into him evened out his failed attempts at killing Rogers.

Stark grinned at him, bright and wide, totally unrepentant, and then he produced two big guns.

Brock took them from him, his eyes categorizing all the outstanding features and a feeling that was almost elation starting to form in his chest. And then, the two polished black steel jewels were in his hands, lighter than they looked and a lot better balanced than it should have been possible.

“Go on,” Stark urged, gesturing towards the targets.

The former STRIKE commander went to take his position at the range because he wanted to test the new guns and not because Stark had more or less ordered him to, and, without great preamble, started to shoot at the targets.

As much as he didn’t want to sing praises at the self-proclaimed genius, Brock had to admit that the guns were like nothing he’d ever shot before, which was saying quite something since his experience wasn’t at all limited to standard guns. No, he’d had the chance to play with exclusive designs and even prototypes from the hands of SHIELD and Hydra’s best engineers. Still, this new pair felt amazing as he pulled the triggers, each shot smooth and fast and deadly precise, almost completely silent despite the lack of an obvious silencer, light and perfectly balanced in a way that made them incredibly easy to maneuver, the recoil so low that it didn’t need him to compensate for it, no need to re-adjust his wrists or to re-aim after each shot.

He only lowered them once the mags were empty, the rush of excitement making his heart beat faster. The weapons were a marvel. If he’d been just a teensy bit more twisted than he was, he’d be sprouting a boner over the damn guns, but since he wasn’t, he turned around to see the three Avengers looking at him with all their attention.

“So?” the engineer demanded, arms loosely crossed over his plexus in a gesture that made him look bored, mocking, classy, and expectant all at once.

“Handle like a dream,” Brock said, because he was an asshole, but not enough of one to lie about something as petty as that.

Stark’s smile was proud and genuinely pleased.

“Of course they do, I did put quite some work in them,” he took a quick look at his watch. “Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen. I promised Steve I’d pay him attention when I was done with some tests. You keep those, I can have Jarvis make more,” he said as he turned around and exited the range, giving them a lazy wave over his shoulder without ever turning to look at them.

Brock stared after him.

“What was that?”

“That’s Tony Stark. Iron Man? Stevie’s crazy partner? Howard’s kid?” Bucky said helpfully, a strange, pleased smile on his face. “Howard was the same.”

“Yup, I’ll take your word for that,” Barton said, and then he clapped Brock’s shoulder before turning back towards the targets. “That’s also the Tony Stark way of saying welcome to the team. Now, which do you think’s the best? My bow, Terminator’s rifle, or your shiny new pair?”

Brock snorted.

“Bring it on, Barton.”

 

 


	2. Two

**Two.**

“What?” Brock stopped dead in his tracks as Bucky sat there in their living room, evidently waiting for him and fixing him with a stare as soon as he stepped into the apartment. If it wasn’t for the smile on his lover’s face, he would’ve been unnerved by the cat-like stare.

“Glad you’re back.”

“Huh,” Brock said as he took a few more steps into their shared space. The way he was sure he knew James, so deeply and completely, put him at ease, but at the same time all his instincts were telling him something was off. “Not that your being happy is a bad thing or anything, but I do normally come back here after working out… at about the same time… every day.”

That he barely left the tower and spent most of his time either in the gym, Bruce’s lab, or their shared floor was something he chose not to mention, since the topic of what Bucky called his self-imposed isolation was a sure trigger to a long discussion that would invariably end in their stubbornly refusing to acknowledge anything or compromise, and in their being grumpy for however long they could go without banging each other.

Bucky grinned at him.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“I was thinking of trying a pork recipe I got from Bruce. But other than that…” he shrugged, finally relaxing enough to go plop down on the sofa next to his lover. “Why? Did you have anything in mind?”

“I didn’t, originally.”

“But…?”

“But then Miss Potts called me, complaining that apparently Steve and Tony had reservations for this awesome place that has to be booked months in advance, and now Stark has decided to cancel because he’s in a creative binge or whatever.”

“Uh huh,” Brock said, although he had an idea of where James was going.

“So I was thinking, maybe we could help to not let Pepper’s hard work go to waste?”

“You want to go instead of them?”

“It was actually Steve’s idea,” he shrugged, but his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

Brock considered it.

“It’s some high-profile place, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“And you wanna go there?”

“It’d be a good excuse to be out for something other than an Avengers PR event.”

“If it doesn’t end up turning into one,” Brock said darkly, “with the Winter Soldier there and all.”

Bucky smiled, and Brock just watched him for a moment.

“You really want to go?”

“It’d be a chance to see you in that nice suit.”

Brock opened his mouth, but Bucky continued before he could say a word.

“And to see everyone else turn to stare, and knowing that I’ll be the only one getting to get all that fancy fabric off you… because you’re all mine.”

The former STRIKE captain gulped because, damn if those words didn’t do things to him. If he was being honest, it was more the hooded bedroom eyes and the leisurely spoken Brooklyn drawl than the words themselves, but…

“Alright,” he said, for some mysterious reason that might or might not had something to do with his brain and its sudden shortage of properly-oxygenated blood.

James smiled, and then unfolded his large frame from his seat, stretching before resting his hands on the backrest of the couch, caging him under his arms.

“Thanks, kid,” a quick peck to the lips and then he was gone, disappearing into their bedroom while Brock tried to get his blood to again flow all along his body, and to understand how exactly the chain of misfortunes and fuck ups that was his life had led to that point.

A couple of hours later, as he kept trying to smooth out and even the knot of the tie so it wouldn’t disgrace the rest of the stupidly elegant suit, the same thoughts were still looping in his head, making him frown. The rich fabrics felt strange against his skin. The cut of the thing flattered his body like nobody’s business, but it only made him feel more aware of the scars on his face, of the marks all over his body, of the visible calluses and the invisible blood on his hands. He kept thinking that he should call it off and suggest that they just stay in and watch a movie instead.

He was about to ask Jarvis for a movie suggestion when the door to the bedroom opened and Brock turned around to watch as James walked in, all beautiful in a dark blue suit that reminded him a lot of that coat that was in most of the war-time photos. He was clean shaven, and his hair was styled back and away from his face, leaving his handsome face unhidden by anything.

“Damn,” Brock said, because yeah, blue was definitely his lover’s color.

“Damn,” Bucky let out at the exact same time, and after a moment of stunned silence, they both burst out laughing. The Winter Soldier covered the distance that separated them, shamelessly looking him up and down before reaching for his tie.

“Now you’re fixing up my tie? Don’t go all dad on me, Aleksei, that’s very unsexy,” he said, but he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Shut up, Brock,” and then it made sense that he was looking into Brock’s brown eyes while his fingers worked, because he wasn’t fixing the knot, but rather undoing it, pulling the thing off and undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt. He leaned in and press an open mouthed, slightly wet kiss to his throat.

“Ok, that’s,” Brock said, hands instinctively going up to grasp James’ shoulders, “that’s definitely sexy.”

“Very,” he agreed, giving him a mischievous smirk. “Now, don’t tense up.”

“What?”

Without warning, Bucky shifted, wrapped his arms around his torso, and fucking dipped him like some old movie heroine.

“Fuck!” Brock let out in surprise.

“Yeah. But later. When we come back.”

“We could always…”

“No. The last time I was out on a nice date, it was with a dame,” he paused, thinking for a moment, “back in a time when we still called dames dames.”

“So it’s all for nostalgia’s sake? That why you dipping me like some noir film chick?”

“Nah. Well, the dipping is, a little bit. But also because it’s fun.”

Brock snorted.

“Ok. But let me up now.”

“Why? I’m not going to drop you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I can maintain this position for much longer,” he adjusted his grip on Bucky’s shoulders a little bit. “I might wrinkle your clothes.”

In a pure showing off of superhuman strength, Bucky actually let go of him with one of his arms, keeping him up with only one as he dug up something from his pocket, which he let drop on Brock’s still horizontal chest. Brock tried to look down at the object, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

“What’s that?”

“The silver Maserati’s keys.”

“Oh, so that’s the actual reason for all this? To get Stark to finally let you take one of his fancy cars?”

“A little bit,” James admitted with that cat-like smile of his. “Grab the keys.”

Brock hesitated a bit, but then let go of his lover with one hand to reach for the keys that rested on the middle of his chest. Just as he’d feared, James used that exact moment to straighten them both back up, and he couldn’t help a curse escaping his lips.

James studied him, smoothing down his clothes as best as he could while keeping him in a loose embrace.

“So there’s the bit of nostalgia, and getting Stark to lend us one of his nice cars with no fuss,” Bucky said as his hand cupped his cheek, thumb tapping at the corner of his mouth, “but it’s mostly to see you dressed up like this. So handsome. And hot.”

Brock let out a self-deprecating huff, and was about to say something, but James kissed him to keep him quiet.

“And I love you.”

And that, Brock knew better than to try to rebuff.

“You know I love you, too, Aleksei.”

“Yeah. Now let’s go to dinner,” he straightened up, and he was smiling all cheeky when he offered him his arm, like he was still a 1940’s sergeant. Brock took it.

“I’m driving,” the former STRIKE captain said.

“No way.”

 

 


	3. One

**One.**

 

“And then of course Clint spent the whole time we were in medical getting patched up bitching about how Tony was playing favorites for catching me instead of him. Tony kept saying that he didn’t want to get smashed by the Hulk if he let me become a splatter on the street below,” Natasha was saying, her smile half-hidden behind her beer bottle as the four of them sat in a booth in some cozy, little sports bar. There was no one paying attention to their battle stories or even their presence there, since all other patrons were absorbed in the game currently playing in all the available screens.

“And I couldn’t guarantee that that wouldn’t happen, either,” Bruce agreed, in that tone that had thrown Brock off a lot when they’d first started to hang out together, since it was hard to know how serious he actually was. Now, it made Brock snort a laugh.

“I bet Barton took that well.”

“Yeah, he started saying that he was only saying that because he had never seen Laura angry.”

“Keep telling ya,” James said, and Brock loved how the Brooklyn bubbled up in his voice whenever he was like that, relaxed and just a tiny bit tipsy, “that dame might play housewife all nice and easy, but she ain’t a helpless flower.”

Natasha nodded in agreement.

“Then Tony said that Clint had a pretty good rate of avoiding becoming a pancake on asphalt by expertly throwing lines into buildings, and of course that Hawkeye pride wouldn’t let him put any doubt on that statement,” Bruce took another sip of his tumbler. “But that’s Tony for you. He spent the next two weeks making him improved grappling hook arrows.”

Brock laughed, shaking his head as he took another big swig off his stein.

“I always thought we were reckless,” he said, referring to Hydra, which he was oddly comfortable talking about among the present company: reformed living weapons and science gone wrong, “but you lot are just crazy.”

“And wait until you hear about those two times Nat and Clint were caught on a mission in Budapest and things got out of hand.”

“Everyone keeps making references to that, you need to share already, Romanoff.”

“Maybe next time, Rumlow,” she said with a lopsided little smile and a twinkle in her eyes. She was even more beautiful and alluring when she was just herself, not playing things up or keeping up her shields. In all the years Brock had known her, he’d never seen her like that, and he supposed anyone could relax when they knew they had the freaking Hulk on their side, even the Black Widow. Brock had to admit that they were good for each other, Bruce and Romanoff.

“Believe me, we’ll need drinks and snacks for that one,” the scientist said.

“And preferably Clint. He adds all these awesome little details to the story when he’s telling it,” Bucky added, metal fingers around his beer mug’s handle and flesh ones playing with the short hairs at the nape of Brock’s neck.

“Hey, Bruce, can I steal you for a minute?” Romanoff said, and Brock didn’t know if the way she was resting her elbow on the table and leaning a bit on her hand was deliberate, or if she was simply naturally sexy.

“Sure,” the doctor responded and followed her outside.

Bucky followed the couple with his eyes, a contented smile on his gorgeous lips.

“It’s a good look on Natalia, isn’t it?”

“I was just thinking about that.”

“I guess love’s a good look on everyone,” he emptied his mug in one long swig, as effortless as if it was water and it wasn’t the fourth oversized mug he’d downed in the past hour or so. He leaned in towards Brock and pressed a short kiss to his lips before starting to get up. “I’ll go get us a refill.”

“Sure,” he pushed his own technically empty mug towards his lover and looked towards the door where Romanoff and Bruce had exited, wondering if they were planning on returning at all, or if he and James had just been ditched in favor of some intimacy. If they didn’t come back, Brock was planning on teasing Bruce mercilessly about it.

He looked at the hour on his cell, and a fresh, huge mug of cold foamy goodness was set in front of him on the table.

“That was fast,” the smile vanished from his lips and all his muscles tensed in an instant, readying for battle, because the hand around the mug’s handle, the _left_ hand there, slightly wet with spilled beer, was all flesh, not metal.

Brock’s eyes took in the callused fingers, went up the thickly muscled arm and to the guy’s face. The guy’s very familiar face.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Fuck,” Brock said. Or thought to say, because he was frozen and his body refused to do anything more than stare at the man as he put a second beer on the table and slid into the booth next to him, moving strangely gracefully for a man his size. Brock wasn’t sure if he was even breathing. Wasn’t this bastard supposed to be dead? The whole world thought he was dead. _He_ had thought he was dead. “Jack,” he could finally say, in an embarrassingly low voice.

Fuck that they were both big men and there wasn’t really much space between the vinyl seats and the rather cheap table, they somehow managed to twist enough to hug and not upset the table enough to spill the drinks on it.

“Fuck, man, I thought you were dead,” and he was still resting a hand on Jack’s arm, because this was his best friend of long, long years, and thinking he was dead had hurt more than he ever admitted to anyone… including himself, if the sharp stab of pain he was feeling now was any indicator.

“Yeah, most of us thought you were dead, too.”

“With my shit luck, it just messed up my pretty face,” he gestured to the scars around his left eye.

Jack snorted.

“The fucking Triskelion collapsed on you.”

“You know me,” he shrugged, “harder to kill than a fucking cockroach.”

“Indeed,” Jack laughed. His eyes did a quick survey of the bar, full of cheering and cursing fans. His tone became a little serious. “Still, I was sure you were dead. Or going to be soon, after I found out Hydra had you back. I thought you were gone for a good while, until I saw you on TV running around with the Avengers, of all company.”

Brock nodded, and took a swig of his beer.

“You with Winter?”

Brock nodded again.

“Finally,” Jack said with a smile.

“Yeah… still not sure how that happened.”

“Some things are better left unknown,” a gulp of beer. “But I’m glad it did come to that.”

“Me too,” speaking of James… he straightened a bit up on his seat and looked around the crowded bar, but his lover was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, everything made sense. “He contacted you, didn’t he?”

“Romanoff did.”

“Did she, now?”

“Yup,” a generous swig of beer.

Brock decided to skip the details in favor of asking something else.

“Where have you been?”

“Middle East. Plenty of work there for anyone who knows a thing or two about guns and explosives, and damn good pay for anyone who knows enough strategy to keep others alive and stay alive. Planning an early retirement that doesn’t involve a bullet to the head and a shallow anonymous grave for the first time in my life.”

“Tropical island sounds much better.”

“I would’ve said the same thing a couple of years ago. Now, I might’ve had enough of heat and sand for a while.”

Brock laughed, and suddenly, it was just as like it had been before, when they’d just been young men trying to keep dreams alive and appear tough because life sure as hell was never going to be gentle with them.


	4. Zero

**Zero.**

 

It was way past three in the morning when Brock stumbled into the apartment he shared with James, still tipsy as hell despite the shit that Hydra had done to him to save his life, and happy enough that he was humming something that was supposed to be a tune.

He wasn’t surprised to find James still awake, dressed only in pants and propped up against the headboard as he read a book. On paper, despite all of Stark’s bitching. His lover gave him a bright smile when he looked up at him.

“Had a good time?”

“Damn right I did.”

“Good,” he sloppily marked the page and tossed the book towards the night stand, where it kinda bounced before falling to the floor. “Come here.”

Brock did, feeling too happy to deny him anything, even in play. Besides, James’ arms was the best place to be, especially in that moment.

“Thank you. For finding him, and…”

“It was mostly Bruce and Natalia’s idea,” he shifted a bit, pushing himself up on the mattress. “You can thank them later.”

Brock nodded his agreement, eyes closing as James moved to rest on top of him, flesh and metal fingers pulling his clothes off between caresses and kisses. His own hands went to pull James’ pants off, and only then did he realize that those weren’t pajama bottoms, nor the faded jeans he’d been wearing earlier. James had fucking dressed up to wait for him.

Warm flesh fingers toyed a bit with his balls before wrapping around his cock, and Brock moaned, half because of the skilled mouth sucking at his neck, and half because of the way his blood suddenly rushed south.

He dug his fingers into James’ hair, not pulling nor restraining, just tangling in the dark, silky strands as the Winter Soldier kissed and sucked and nipped at his neck and his shoulder and his nipples, his knees pressing to the sides of his lover’s thighs. Maybe it was the alcohol still running through his veins, maybe it was the simple emotional rush, but in just a few minutes, his breathing was all ragged, his skin hot and tingly, and his manhood so damn hard it threatened to become painful.

For an agonizing moment, James got mostly off of him to reach for the lube that he’d apparently stashed under Brock’s pillow earlier, and while most of his senses complained at the loss of the warmth and the pressure, the strategist in Brock used the moment to draw deep breaths. Then, he was caged again under him, with his hands resting at both sides of his head.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

It was so incongruous that he’d say that at that precise moment when it was him who looked absolutely perfect, with his white skin glistening with sweat under the lowered lighting of the room, his steel blue eyes dark with arousal, his lush lips reddened and kiss-swollen. All of him was perfect and beautiful, from his disheveled long hair to the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“I’m not. You, on the other hand…”

James kissed him, slow and gentle.

“I know what mirrors are. I’ve always known I look good, ever since I was just a punk kid in Brooklyn I got enough attention. Even with the arm now…” he nodded towards the metallic limb.

“That’s not bad at all.”

“Maybe,” he paused to kiss him again, because he’d be damned if he let the atmosphere dissolve entirely into insecurities. “But the point is, it doesn’t have to be one of us, you know? I know I’m hot stuff,” he arched a brow, all cocky and playful, smiling like the cat that got the canary, “but that doesn’t mean you’re not gorgeous as fuck.”

To his own surprise, Brock found himself smiling.

“Will you accept that?” Bucky pressed.

“I might, if it’ll get you to go on and fuck me already.”

“Bossy, bossy,” but he moved to expertly apply the lube where it needed to go, and just a few seconds later, he was moving above him, with him, to meld their bodies into one.

They were damn masters at it, had had it slow, fast, hard, playful, whatever they felt like experimenting. Sometimes they discussed things at length, sometimes they made fairly elaborate plans for their intimacy. Other times, like now, they moved together like two parts of a single unit, caressing and kissing, taking their time to relish the simple marvel of being together.

James came first, his eyes squeezed shut and his delicious, red lips quivering. Brock let out a ragged noise of disappointment when he pulled out of his body and stood above him on hands and knees. He arched up as they kissed, moaning into Aleksei’s mouth as his hard shaft rubbed against his lover’s hip. Teeth nipped playfully at his tongue, and then Aleksei was kissing down his body, scrapping teeth against his sensitive nipples and tongue tracing the relief of his abs. Metal fingers rested on his hip, flesh ones caressing up and down his thigh, and then, there was the feeling of warm breath right on his manhood, the sight of those glistening lips open to take his cock in… he wanted to keep that image in his head forever, but then there was the sensation of the pink, moist tongue dipping into the slit of his cock, and he was coming, embarrassingly fast, perhaps, but he couldn’t care when Aleksei’s mouth was closed around his erection, that wicked tongue playing around the head, going over the tip in some kind of glorious torture.

He tried to get away, because it was too much, almost painful, but he couldn’t, incapable of moving for precious moments as he was blinded by pure ecstasy. Aleksei finally let go of his oversensitive flesh, and only then did Brock realize that he’d closed his eyes at some point, that one of his hands was fisted on the comforter and the other in slightly damp, long hair, that one of his lover’s hands was wrapped around his thigh, the other caressing his still quivering abdomen and heaving chest. Sweet kisses were being pressed against his inner thigh.

Brock tried to say something, but he didn’t have enough breath.

By the time he could form half-coherent words, he was too absorbed by how James looked, all sensually roughed up. If he hadn’t just come like a teenager, he’d probably be hard as a rock just looking at him.

“You spilled some,” his mouth said, before his brain caught up with the fact that there was come on James’ chin.

His devil of a lover chased it with his tongue, lapping some of it into his mouth, but there was still some he couldn’t reach, so he leaned in to smear it on Brock’s lower belly and then licked it up.

“Fuck, Aleksei,” he complained, closing his eyes, because his poor brain seriously needed some fresh blood to come back up and his lover wasn’t being helpful.

The next kiss tasted of his own come, but he’d never found it disgusting when it was mixed with James’ personal taste. They kissed slowly, for what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

“We should clean up,” he said after a while.

“Maybe,” James half-agreed, not moving a muscle.

“We should really clean up,” Brock said a couple of minutes later, and the smile James gave him showed that he knew perfectly well that Brock was trying to convince himself.

 “Don’t get up,” James gave him a peck to the lips and then he started to move, not hurrying at all. He leaned over the edge of the bed and picked up a washcloth that had apparently been stowed there earlier.

Brock didn’t move, feeling content and boneless, not even flinching when James started to wipe him with the rather cool damp washcloth. He didn’t even bother to watch as his lover cleaned him up and then himself, or so Brock assumed, going by how he was no longer touching him but definitely still moving.

“Brock?”

“Mh?”

“You awake?”

“I think so. More or less.”

“Good.”

Brock was about to ask what he was talking about, but then he felt something small, cold, and relatively heavy being dropped onto his naked chest. Instinctively, he reached for the object, but then there were words against his mouth and a kiss to his lips.

“Happy birthday, kid.”

The way James kissed was distracting, impossible to get used to, so Brock couldn’t be blamed for not realizing the thing between his fingers was a ring until after the kiss ended and he lifted the thing to his eyes.

It was a sleek piece of dark grey metal that was almost black against the dawn light that was starting to come in through the windows, there was an engraving around the band, small circles with some sort of exploding star inside.

“Aleksei…” he said after a moment of staring at the ring, most likely looking like a moron.

“That’s actually the color of the alloy. It has platinum and titanium and other stuff in it… or so Tony said. And…” James stared back at him, and Brock had seen him look lost or confused or not all there many, many times when Hydra fucked with his head… but this was a completely new brand of lost.  “It’s just a ring, Brock. And it’s your birthday, so I thought you might like it, that it’d suit you; but you don’t even have to wear it if you don’t want to. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I mean, that’s… not why I got it.”

Brock studied the piece of manly jewelry, watched the light play on its surface as he rolled it between his fingers.

“No, I like it. I like it a lot.”

“Good,” he said, sounding incredibly relieved. When he spoke again, he sounded a little off again. “Unless you wanted it to mean something. I’d also be very much ok with that.”

“I think I’d like that… but… I’ve never done well with ceremonies. Of any kind. And there’s so many things I don’t deserve that…”

“Stop with what you do or don’t deserve. But about ceremonies… I’ve never liked them much. So I think we can skip that, leave it for Steve and Stark, maybe,” he paused. “It could just be a reminder of a promise.”

“Keeping promises is something I can try.”

“I know you can… but I was referring more to myself, and my promising, _swearing_ ,” he corrected, “to keep you by my side as long as we’re breathing,” he paused, brows furrowing. “Maybe _threatening_ would be a more accurate word.”

“That’s a good threat. I’ll take it,” and he started to put the ring on, on the ring finger of his left hand, but metallic fingers stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“Let me.”

And Brock watched as he slipped the ring on. It fit perfectly, and Brock was going to have to ask about that… but later, because for now, he was too busy burning the moment into his memory, of James lying naked and half on top of him, putting the ring on his finger like an illustration on a kids’ fairy tales book, complete with dramatic pause and a kiss pressed to his palm, then his fingers.

“You’re such a fucking sap,” Brock said, but his tone had no bite at all, and he was still mesmerized by the image, probably smiling like an idiot, too.

“I’m just an old-fashioned fella,” he grinned. “And you like it.”

The former STRIKE captain snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it. James crawled on top of him again, lazily pinning him down and kissing him once more.

“I like to think I’m good at keeping promises,” Brock said, interrupting Bucky’s chain-kissing. “And I’m also promising not to leave you,” he admired the way dawn light cast shadows over his lover’s handsome face. “Ever. I love you, Aleksei.”

James smiled down at him, wide and bright, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“I know. I love you, too, kid.”

“Will need to find a… some sort of token for that promise, too.”

“If you want,” James said against his neck.

“Yeah.”

“But later.”

“Yeah, later,” Brock agreed, because the fingers stroking his side were making his skin rise in goosebumps, and he could feel his partner getting progressively hard against his thigh, and the blood was draining from his brain again, anyway, and soon he wouldn’t be able to form a single coherent thought.

He was fine with it. He was fucking fine with everything happening to him right then.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't have a canon birthday date for Brock Rumlow, so I, like many other fans, have decided to assume it's the same as Frank Grillo's!   
> So here, let's celebrate Frank's birthday and thank him for the awesome portrayal of Brock Rumlow in the MCU! Honestly, with the short screen time he had, he managed to portray the character in such a way that hinted at a lot more of depth than the generic Hydra minion. So awesome.


	5. Later

**Later.**

 

It was nice. Just lying on his side on the big bed, tangled in soft sheets and plush comforter, with his lover spooning him and lazily stroking his side and peppering kisses over his neck, shoulders, and upper back. He wished he could just will his stomach to stop demanding food, or plainly ignore it, because he really didn’t want to move. The smart glass was shaded to let in just a little bit of sunlight, making it look like it was sunset, but it could be any hour of the day.

His guts decided to betray him and growled. Loudly.

Bucky chuckled, tightening his arms to give him a squeeze before starting to get up.

“Why are you moving?”

“Because we obviously need to get something to eat.”

“Not really,” and his stomach protested again. Bucky laughed, and took a playful bite at his shoulder blade before completely letting go of him and rolling off the bed. Brock just groaned, unwilling to move even to try and retain his loved. “I thought you said we could do whatever I wanted today.”

“Yup. And your stomach is part of you, and currently being quite clear about its needs,” and then he disappeared momentarily into the bathroom, taking advantage of his training to get clean in a surprisingly fast shower.

A wet Bucky leaned down to press a brief kiss to his lips as he passed by on his way to the kitchen, and Brock barely rotated his head to receive it before melting back into the mattress in a boneless heap.

He studied the way the light reflected off the dark silver color of the ring on his finger, listening to the muffled sounds that came from the kitchen. As his brain slowly came online, he felt like kicking himself for not realizing that the last few days had been a chain of birthday celebrations. How had he not noticed before? They hadn’t even been subtle.

“Why are you frowning?”

“Mh?” he turned to look at James, who was standing there, leaning against the doorframe.

“You’re frowning.”

Brock rolled onto his back and stretched.

“Did you tell everyone it was my birthday?”

“They asked,” Bucky gave him a half shrug, a smile on his face.

“Maybe Bruce did…”

“Actually, I asked Clint for help to look for a gift for you, and then I’m sure he told Natasha, and so on. He came up with the idea and Tony was all on board for the design and execution. Apparently he was excited because he had to make the guns in record time.”

“I thought they were something he had in development.”

“Trust me, that pair’s one of a kind, especially designed for you. That’s how Starks roll.”

Brock was a little bit shocked. Perhaps more than a little bit, if he was honest with himself.  Barton wasn’t going to be difficult, but how the hell was he supposed to thank Stark?

“And apparently, Tony said something about it to Pepper, because then she called me all excited and wanting to plan something. I was mostly sure that you wouldn’t want to go to some fancy dinner without a good reason, so Steve helped with the strategy. And got us the car.”

Rumlow nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he pictured how that conversation would go. Pepper would be elated that they’d had a good time, would convince him of doing it again, and would somehow get him to go with her to another shopping trip or something of the sort. He’d be damned if he ever admitted aloud that he was looking forward to it, though.

“And Romanoff?”

“Bruce apparently had thought of that a good while ago, and Natasha was already trying to locate Rollins. Once Clint started going on about your birthday, they just sped things up a bit.”

“That was good.”

“Just good?”

“Very good,” he conceded, and closed his eyes, not bothering to try to suppress his smile. The mattress dipped as James came and rested one knee beside him.

“Come on, get up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Breakfast’s gonna get cold.”

“So bring it here.”

Brock opened his eyes just a little to watch as his lover studied the bed and the tangled covers.

“Bed’s filthy.”

And, well, the fine sheets and bedding might be a little stained after all the loving, but…

“We’ve had worse.”

James snorted and rolled his eyes at him.

“Get up, Brock, or I will pick you up.”

“God damn you,” he absolutely didn’t whine, and then extended a hand to get his lover to pull him up. His muscles protested as he was hoisted up, aching deliciously from the long hours in bed. He put his arms around James’ neck, ready to use his grip as leverage and resist in case he tried to carry him bridal style or something. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Can you stand on your own?”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

“My very hot partner,” and the smirk on his lips and the gleam on his eyes was that combination of cheeky and deadly serious that Brock loved. “And considering what I did to you…” and a squeeze to his butt.

“I ran thirty miles with a bullet in my thigh once, I’m sure I can manage a shower and breakfast.”

“I don’t remember much of it, but I think it was mostly Rollins and Murphy running those thirty miles half carrying you through a jungle.”

“I was shot through the thigh.”

“Alright. Go shower while I serve breakfast, tough guy.”

Brock forced himself to walk a lot more steadily than his body wanted to. The shower wasn’t as fast as he could normally achieve, but he decided he didn’t care. The water felt good against his body, and he didn’t really hurry while he towel dried and then pulled on a pair of pants that was conveniently lying close by. They fit well enough, but they were slightly looser on the waist than usual, so maybe they weren’t even his.

He was still stretching as he walked into the kitchen and found his lover pouring orange juice into a couple of glasses from a bottle that promised fresh juice from organic fruits.

“What does that even mean? Advertising something as organic orange implies that there’s inorganic oranges, right?”

James gave him an amused look.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” Brock asked, flopping down on a chair in front of a generous serving of scrambled eggs and potatoes. Aesthetic wasn’t James’ forte where cooking was concerned, but the smell made Brock’s mouth water.

“I kinda felt like an idiot for that organic food thing. ‘S good to know it’s not just me.”

“Must be a vegan hipster thing,” Brock said mockingly as he dug into his food, enjoying it thoroughly. “What?” he asked after a moment, because James kept staring at him, jaw resting on his metallic hand while he ignored his own food.

“I really like seeing you happy.”

The former STRIKE captain returned his eyes to his plate for a bit.

“Yeah,” he paused, thinking what to say. “It’s by far the best birthday of my life.”

“Not that the bar was set too high, huh?”

“Well, there was that one time Jack and I got drunk at some backwater town and then we had to chase after the whores because they’d taken my wallet, along with the codes we had just acquired. No, I wouldn’t say it was too much of a record…” he took another huge mouthful potatoes to give himself time to choose his words, because he hated that look in James’ face. “I used to get cake or candies at the orphanage. And after that, I usually treated myself to something good whenever it was possible… but it was never a big deal.”

“Why?” James asked, and for a moment, Brock hated the fact that his partner knew him so damn well.

He shrugged.

“I’m not even sure of my actual birth date. Far as I know, my mother just dumped me at the orphanage in a box.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah, of course, but…” he interrupted himself as he got what James meant. “Wait. How would you know that?”

“Natalia and I did some digging. Maybe we didn’t find what we wanted, but there was a birth certificate. The date is correct.”

Brock nodded.

“That’s good to know,” he said, nodding, and he looked all relaxed as he resumed eating his breakfast. “That’s all I want to know.”

“Do you think…?”

The doors to the elevator slid open, and both tensed up as Natasha, followed by Bruce, strode into their floor.

“Hope you’re decent, guys!” she called as she walked into the kitchen. “Oh, good! You’re awake and even wearing something made of fabric.”

“Nat?”

“It’s ok, Bruce, you can come in here,” she called before leaning in to steal a potato from Bucky’s plate, completely unfazed by their very little clothing or all the evidence of what they’d been up to for most of the day.

“Sorry, guys,” the physicist apologized as he joined the redhead in the kitchen. “Steve asked us to come and let you know that Thor’s back on Earth and apparently planning to have a party with Asgardian ale. He’s on his way from Arizona with Jane and Darcy.”

“Couldn’t you just have Jarvis deliver the message?” Brock asked.

Bucky was shaking his head in amusement.

“Believe me, Rumlow,” Nat said, “Tony wanted to do just that.”

“And at this time, I’m sure he had managed to come up with something very creative,” Bruce added. “He was suggesting that since you had taken so long to show any signs of life...”

Brock looked at the clock on the wall, and was shocked to see that it was almost four in the afternoon.

“Fuck…”

“Love the hickeys, by the way,” Romanoff had somehow acquired an apple.

Brock’s hand flew to his left shoulder, where the love bruising was the most evident, and his eyes went to meet Bruce’s. The doctor’s brown eyes promised lengthy and merciless teasing.

“Happy birthday, Brock.”

Fuck.

“Bruce, could you please _not_?” the former Hydra agent asked.

“Oh, you won’t even see it coming.”

Bucky laughed, Natasha chuckled behind her apple, and Brock muttered a string of curses and then just tried to focus on finishing his breakfast.

Best fucking birthday ever.


End file.
